what seems sharp and unpleasant because we love them too well to spoil them.

But, strange, contradictory creatures as we are, we do not feel always content when our heavenly Father deals with us in the same way. "Let us always have summer, let the flowers always grow, let us always sing pleasant songs, let our days be fair and bright, let us be sheltered from the storm and the cold. We do not like the sharp, searching winds; we do not enjoy the brisk breeze, we would rather live in the light and the sunshine."

Ah, but our Father is wise, and does not listen to us. He sends us winter. He does not intend that we should be weak, puling babies all our lives; we are to grow and to be strong, and to be able to enjoy all His good gifts as well as to work for Him. It is true that He has provided a shelter from the storm, but He will not have us always there. We must go out and brave the weather and fight against the winds. We must climb mountains in the very face of the blast, we must bear trouble, and disappointment, and sorrow, and not only bear them, but make stepping-stones of them. And every windy day we must count as so much gain.

Does not our Father love us, then, when He makes so much that is unpleasant accompany us? We know He does.

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It is because He loves us that He lets the winds beat upon us. He loves us best when the storms come. We need not fear. We never need tremble lest the wind should be too strong for us. 'He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him." Do we mind what happens when our Father is over us all?

"Redeeming the Time."

We do not always remember the injunction of the wise man-"Thy father's friend forsake not," for many maxims and rules which stood our fathers in good stead are either

forgotten or ignored by us their children. We are rather fond of marking out ways for ourselves, which are far enough from the footsteps which they have left behind them; for they did not always choose the smooth and pleasant paths, and we take the roughness or the pleasantness very much into consideration. There was a ruggedness about our fathers which, though we may have no inclination to imitate, we cannot but admire. They were noble and strong, we say in ungrudging generosity of speech; but it is, after all, rather delicious to be easeloving, and luxurious, and self-gratifying. We prefer our own way, and we have a consciousness that, after all, in our altered circumstances there is something to be said in its favour.

For instance, they have left us a very neat motto, which we cannot help remembering, about retiring and rising early, and the immense advantages, consisting of health, wealth, and wisdom, which will arise from that very uncomfortable but wholesome habit. But we, having a taste for gas, and music, and social converse, and the fireside, and a distaste for semi-darkness, and unwarmed rooms, and foggy mornings, are apt to take an hour or two from the night and repay it with property belonging to the day, and are actually vain enough to believe that we are gainers thereby. They have left us directions as to the improvement of time, and warnings against wasting it; but, alas! we have grown prodigal, and instead of taking care of the pence that the pounds may accumulate, we squander minutes and half-hours, and such small change, without so much as a blush at our extravagance. We live in different times, we say. We smile half-pityingly at the wonderful biographies of wise men who became exceedingly rich because they always picked up pins, and old nails, and pieces of string, and replied to their correspondents on the backs of their own letters. are sorry for them, because paper was so dear and time of so little value. We can earn pounds as quickly as they saved pence, and we look back rather slightingly upon the good old times. We lay ourselves out in a widely different way, and, instead of being so over-careful of minutes, we wilfully and deliberately give up whole hours to what we are pleased to call necessary recreation.

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This is all very well and reasonable, but it behoves us, as thoughtful and Christian people, to inquire whether we do not go rather too far in treating time so cavalierly. It is expected of us that we should be redeeming the time; and it may fairly be asked whether, even making allowances for the circumstances in which we live, we are not too often absolutely wasteful of it. We can afford to leave a broad margin for social intercourse, and recreation, and abundant rest; but even then are there not many hours in the week in which we do not amuse ourselves or each other, do not seek healthful exercise, do not improve or even interest the mind, do not read or talk, or even think to any purpose whatever? If there are, we plainly deserve that our forefathers should condemn us, as by both their words and example they certainly do; and we deserve also, what is worse still, the accusations of our own consciences.

It seems impossible to be as methodical and as firm people used to be. It would be little use for us to apportion our time-four hours for private study, eight for manual labour, and so on because our private study would be interrupted and our manual labour frequently stopped. Even our desire to redeem the time is not a sufficient excuse for being ungracious and disobliging. But because of this we ought not to be discouraged; and we ought to be eager and conscientious in the performance of our duty still. It is wonderful what some people do, even while conforming to this altered state of society; but it only shows that "where there's a will there's a way." Let us live as those who must give an account. Even though the way should be pleasant, and life a delightful season, let us not forget that we have a charge to keep, a mission to fulfil, a God to serve; and that, whether we like to think so or not, life is, after all, a terribly earnest thing.

Hasty Words.

"I SAID in my haste, All men are liars." “Zion said, The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me." And these last hasty words were even worse than those of David, for it would be infinitely better for all men to be liars than for God to forget. But both expressions are only specimens of thousands of hasty words which are uttered every day upon our earth, and they are only average words, presenting a picture by no means overdrawn. They are very unjust; but intemperate speakers do not pause to question either the justice.or the mercy of what they say. In passionate haste, in undiscerning wrath, they pour out their cutting words, never pausing to notice where they fall, and quite undeterred by their wounding effects.

The evil that is in our world, and which rushes down our streets, devastating homes, ruining happiness, and laying waste the pleasant places, has many fountains. Sin does its deadly work in many ways, and sorrow comes from a variety of sources. And hasty words have certainly much to answer for among the rest. We are apt to think that a word or two does not matter, that we need not trouble ourselves to be over-particular as to what we say. But that is only one of our many mistakes. Words live. There is so much vitality in them that they take root even upon very unlikely soil. And if we sow the wind, we need not be surprised if we reap the whirlwind.

Hasty words are almost sure to have little sense and less kindness in them. They are not the offspring of meek and quiet spirits, but of hot passionate tempers. "All men are liars!" Who but a man in a passion would have said that? The assertion is so sweeping and so unjust, that if David had not prefaced it by his confession, “I said in my haste," we should have understood it. Perhaps the reason why such words are spoken, is, that the speaker feels himself aggrieved. We often do in this life of ours; we cannot have all we wish from our brothers and sisters, and so we allow ourselves to grow fretful and angry. We are unreasonable enough to suppose that all things should

be ours, and when we find only a few things coming to our share, then we become discontented and peevish, and speak hasty words. Then we say very hard words of each other, and most sinfully say, in our hearts if not with our tongues, hard things of our wise and loving Father.

Seeing that hasty words are so unkind, unjust, and untrue, how can we prevent ourselves from uttering them, and so escape the need of the after-repentance, which is their consequence?

"He that believeth shall not make haste." Is not the secret of our impatience to be found in our lack of faith in God? If our hearts were stayed upon Him, if we were like children resting in our Father's arms, would every little thing that occurred around us have such power over us? If we knew, so as to realise the fact, that nothing happens to us without His permission, that what seems so provoking in those who are about us would not be allowed to trouble us unless He willed it so; if we saw that words, trials, inconveniences, and even unkindnesses, only come to us according to His pleasure, surely then we should cease to be hasty! It is because we forget this, because we do not listen to the tender words spoken ever to us. "Can a woman forget her suckling child? yea, they may forget, yet will not I forget thee." If we knew Him, if we understood anything of the might and faithfulness of His love, we should never dare to say, "The Lord hath forsaken me."

Faith in our Father, calm trust in His love, resignation to what cannot but be for our real good, seeing that He sends it, these are the cures for hasty words.

In the Dark.

We do not like darkness. We have as little of it as possible. If the sun will not shine, then let us make the most of moon and stars, or if these fail let us have oil or gas. It seems natural in our present state to shorten the